


Carpe Diem

by ANClara, outtogarden



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cancer, M/M, Romance, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-14 00:09:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5722258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANClara/pseuds/ANClara, https://archiveofourown.org/users/outtogarden/pseuds/outtogarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur takes an interest in a stranger that crosses his path completely by chance on a stormy afternoon. Once he meets Alfred, an energetic twenty-something with a bad habit of being late, he finds himself changing his view on everyday life as Alfred encourages him to live each day to the fullest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was on a dreary, rain-ruined day that I first saw you. I was sitting at the café on the corner of West and Main—you know the one, with the yellow door and the crooked sign I never brought up, though it bothered me to no end. Neither of us paid attention to the other at first; why would we? You were just another face in the crowd, and I a filler for the background of your theatrical life. I was unaware of the result that seeing you would cause, and now that I think about it, I should have known that you were special.

For a while the rain had subsided and the sun peered out from behind the clouds, something of a good omen for anyone who had to commute to work. You had thought that it was safe to venture outside, but began to sprint as the downpour resumed without warning, hands clutching on to a sodden newspaper over your blond hair. The shoes you had on were drenched as you tread through a pothole full of muddy water. That made you pause long enough to drop the paper in defeat and curse at the faulty road, animatedly gesturing at the inanimate objects that upset you.

Basking in the warmth of my tea, inhaling its sweet scent deeply as though it alone would wake me, I smirked at you, chuckling internally at your misfortune. I thought about how difficult it must have been for you, not an inkling of guilt in my mind whatsoever, as I took a sip of the liquid in my cup.

After several seconds of stomping your feet on the ground like a tantrum-throwing toddler, I saw you sigh, your shoulders slumping forward. You weren't as miffed as you were beaten down. I wish I would have known that the world had tossed you aside back then. Maybe I would have ran out and offered you my coat instead of laughing at your misery and how charming you were when you got mad. I didn't know that you were crying, I swear it. The rain concealed it so well, and even when your body trembled as the sobs began, I brushed it off, assuming that the cold must have had you shivering.

Just like that, you turned away from me so that I could watch as you went, breaking into a swift jog. I smiled a little, half-hoping you would eventually find happiness since the morning had been negatively eventful. I wished that things would look up for you and then pushed all thoughts of you out of my head, presuming that I would never see you again.

As I resumed the mental list of what I had to accomplish, my tea did not seem as amorous to me anymore. It was weak and already getting cold—I should not have trusted that an American could make a decent spot of tea. I didn't know how I did not realise what a terrible cup it was before. Then again, your mere presence had always made me see things in a different light. Now that I have had time to reflect, I never got the chance to properly thank you for making life seem so alive.

Every night for over three months, I dreamt about you. At first you only appeared as I thought you were; a shadow, a passerby in a sea of others. I did not realise that you were even there until I thought about it later. As time passed, you became more and more tangible, gradually taking over a bigger part of the picture as though you demanded that I recognised your importance. More often than not, you played simple characters that lacked development, aiding in helping move the scene along, but serving no higher purpose. Sometimes you were a waiter, others a passenger on the train, and once you were the best man at my wedding to a women I thought I loved. I'll admit that you were a welcome addition to my fantasies.

After I woke, there would be a smile on my face, and I could never place why. I did not even know you. Everything I thought I knew was a figment of my imagination, from your dazzling white smile and the delicate, tinkling laughter I heard frequently, to the way your skin felt as it brushed mine. All of it was fabricated out of the memory of your face and the mannerisms of countless others that I had unconsciously thrown together. Yet I didn't care that you were some fantastical Frankenstein. I had loved you all the same.

It was on my birthday almost four months after I first saw your face that we finally met. You were running late as you always were. If only you had the good sense to watch where you were going, you would have darted right by instead of straight into me. The force about knocked me over, you were so strong. As I prepared to call you every foul name I knew, I looked up to see the blushing, horrified expression you wore and realised that you were literally the man of my dreams.

Your messy blond hair shone like sunshine on the overcast day, a single strand in the front sticking up for some odd reason. With a frenzied hand, you readjusted your glasses which had nearly fallen off in the collision, and the other clutched onto my shirt in order to steady us both. There was a pause as I was baffled to have found you completely by chance and I swore I saw a spark of curiosity in your eyes once you had time to register what you ran into. Your eyes were bluer than the most beautiful ocean and more radiant than I could ever hope to be.

"I'm so, so sorry, dude. I am such a major klutz!"

"It's quite alright, lov–" I, too, flushed, realising my mistake. I was so accustomed to seeing you that it hardly felt like our first meeting. "It was my fault. My apologies."

It truly was your fault, but I was not about to admit that. You knew the truth anyway. I was amused by how embarrassed you were, stuttering out an apology that wasn't needed. Midway through your sentence you realised I wasn't listening, just smiling. The words fell off your tongue rapidly so that you could get out what you needed to say. Were it anyone else, I would have been easily annoyed by your loud, obnoxious—and may I add—improper language. However, I was thrilled that I finally knew what your voice sounded like.

"Really, it's fine. No harm done...?"

You looked mortified, having forgotten to give me your name. "Alfred! My name, I mean. Alfred Jones."

"A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Alfred. I am Arthur Kirkland."

For the first time in reality, I saw your smile and my heart sped up like I had been the one running. I instantly knew that I was in love with you. All I could do was stare, transfixed by my realisation, thinking about what it could possibly mean. I needed to reflect over a nice cup of tea. Honestly, I dreaded the coffee you Americans were accustomed to drinking, but I figured that you would enjoy it, so I used it as an excuse to ask you out, worried that I would miss my opportunity if I didn't come up with something soon.

"Would you perhaps like to go for some coffee?"

Though I had meant at a more convenient time, you grinned and nodded excitedly. "Yeah, sure! I was on my way to… but you know what, I can skip it."

Trying to keep the faint smile off my face, I could not believe that lame pickup line actually worked. "Well, alright, then."

We conversed about pleasant things for a while, neither of us knowing where we were going while forgetting about where we should have been. You had a cheery disposition and were more boisterous than I would have imagined. I had you figured for the shy, quiet type; however you proved me wrong as you ranted on and on about your favourite rock band that was touring soon. I cherished every word you spoke. After several minutes of this, you broke off suddenly, asking me if you were talking too much. It was evident that you were nervous, about as much as I was. I assured you that your rambling was not so overwhelming that it irked me. You grinned again.

You weren't the most level-headed person I'd ever met, but I quickly discovered that you had a kind heart and the desire to be everyone's hero, just like the ones you read about in comic books as a child. A tragic past lingered behind your warm smile and ambitious nature. When I asked about your parents, you tried to shrug off the question. I did not push you because it was obviously a touchy subject. The conversation lulled a bit.

"It's just that I didn't know my parents," you said finally. "My older brother raised me, but we had sort of a falling out once I graduated high school. I wanted my independence. He wanted to control me. So I left. I haven't seen him since."

Before we could lapse into an uncomfortable silence, I shared more about myself. "My father was a raging alcoholic and my mum died shortly after I turned twelve. I lived with my cousin, who is a complete arse, by the way, just so I could get away. He was always comparing the two of us—who had been with more women, could drink more, and the like—making me feel like I was less than he was. When I left for university, I moved here."

The little café with the yellow door and the crooked sign crossed our path and since we had no set destination, I suggested that we take a table inside, you agreed. We sat at the only available table by the window that overlooked busy Main Street, taking a few moments to people watch, adjusting to the unpleasant change in topic. After a mother strolled by with her infant in a carriage, smiling down at him with so much love I could hardly stand it, I glanced at you, and found that you were enthralled by the simplistic display, smiling sadly at her. You turned back to me like the longing wasn't in your heart, that the deep yearning for your own mother was not tearing you to shreds on the inside.

As you opened your mouth to speak, a rather rude waitress interrupted you, leaning with her elbows on the table in an obvious attempt to flirt with you, batting her fake eyelashes repeatedly. She was beautiful with fiery hair, and young—clearly not my cup of tea—though I was worried that she could have been yours. I rolled my eyes, but you didn't seem to even notice her. You leaned away from her to smile at me, something devious in your brilliant blue eyes.

"What will you have, handsome?" She made sure you had a full view of her breasts. I internally scoffed at how _American_ the twit was.

"My boyfriend wants coffee, black," you said with enthusiasm. "And I'll have… an Earl Grey tea. That sounds totally awesome."

The waitress's face dropped and she stood up like an actual person. She looked disappointed to say the least. I stifled my laughter with a cough as you continued grinning at her expectantly. None of us said another word. After she scribbled down our order, she walked away, the spring that was present in her step before gone without a trace. You smirked at me like you deserved an award for being so terribly cliché. I was secretly glad you did that, even if that made me unsure as to whether that meant you were interested in men, and more importantly, interested in me.

"She does that every time I come in. I think she needs a new hobby."

"I am sorry to disappoint you, but I don't drink coffee, Alfred."

Your smile became cleverer in nature. "I know, dude. The coffee is mine. The tea is for you. Don't look surprised, Artie, you're totally British!"

I didn't bother to question why you switched our orders and simultaneously hid my cringe at the god awful nickname you called me. You did not seem to be the logical type as I was, so I figured it was better to leave it be. There were more pressing matters at hand. I went out on a limb. "What does your boyfriend do?"

"My ex was into video games, I guess. He was kind of a deadbeat. What about your… girlfriend?"

"Ah, yes, my boyfriend and I split up last year when he moved to Canada and I stayed here."

There was a hopeful gleam in your electric blue eyes, at least, I assumed it was hope, or perhaps I had wished that it was. I now know that it was something close if not the real thing, which still makes me smile at the memory of our first date. That is what you called it, anyway, the fated meeting we had on the intersection of 3rd Avenue and Main Street. It was mere blocks from where I saw you crying in the rain, though I still had no idea that that is what you had done. I could not imagine you ever being melancholy with your cheery outlook on life. You beamed so brightly that it put the sun to shame.

"Well, that's fantastic!"

I looked at you incredulously. "How is that in any way fantastic?"

"Oh… um, you know, bro…" Face flushed a timid pink, you were at a loss for an explanation and your sentences ended on a high note like a question. "Long distance relationships suck?"

"Yes, I suppose they do."

The slutty waitress returned bearing our drinks and she set mine down a bit too forcefully, which caused much of the coffee to spill over the rim, yet the tea, that was actually mine, remained perfectly intact. _I wonder why_ , I thought with a roll of my eyes. You promptly swapped the cups as she turned away with a pout, not even bothering to fake an apology for her atrocious behavior. Then is when I understood what you had done. You didn't seem too bothered by her, taking a large gulp of what was left in your mug.

"Told you she does this all the time." You took another long, slow sip, looking at the tabletop. "I'm the hero," you said smugly with your bottom lip still pressed to the mug.

I chuckled dryly, to make you think I was not engrossed with you, to push you away, though the gesture was much appreciated. The dilemma was that I wasn't sure if I could handle letting you close only to have you ripped away. There was something between us, an inexplicable connection, no reasoning behind why I had grown attached to someone I had just met. I felt mad, wanting you as badly as I did and having nothing to show for it. My feelings appeared to be entirely one-sided at the time.

After arguing over who would pay, you leapt up, heading straight for the door, and I thought that I had driven you away with my foul mouth and equally unpleasant attitude. You waltzed up to that airhead that called herself a server at one of her other tables and handed her enough to cover the check, coming back only to grab my hand and yank me out of my seat with that inhuman strength you possessed. I cursed at you, demanding that you explain what it was you thought you were doing. I did not receive an answer.

When you laughed, it was in no way delicate nor proper as I had dreamt it would be. Actually, in all honesty, I found it as obnoxious as your overwhelming personality, but I thought it was equally as endearing. Your cackle pervaded the otherwise silent café and followed us onto the street. The sunlight caught your golden hair and I instantly forgot about how annoyed I was with you. You were smiling again, showing me your brilliantly white teeth. Everything about you was perfect. Tall, tan, and handsome, I could not imagine that someone such as yourself simply came into being that flawless. Even your eyes appeared too blue, too bright, to be real. I blushed when you caught me looking at you.

"Next she would have spilled your drink on you. I wanted to leave before she did. That would have ruined our date!"

"D-date?"

"Yeah, dude. You're the one that asked me out! I had a totally awesome time, but I've really gotta get going. I'm, like, _really_ late now."

I suppose I looked disappointed because you cupped my face with your hand and brought our lips together. All of the blood in my body rushed to my cheeks in that moment and I was afraid that you could feel the heat radiating off of my skin. The kiss was faint, so light that I was left unsatisfied, but I was not expecting even that much and was pleasantly surprised. You burst into a grin once we parted. My face was on fire, ears and neck prickling painfully, and I glanced at something behind you as to not look you in the eye. For some reason, you took this to mean that you could kiss me again, pressing harder this time. I could not complain about that. Still, I blushed furiously.

"I'll call you, Arthur. Thanks for the coffee."

"You paid for it, idiot."

"Yeah, but only 'cause I ran you over. I'm glad I did." Only then did you blush slightly. "Oh, I need your number!"

I readily gave you the information, my mind still reeling from our kisses. "Thank you for everything, Alfred."

"No problem, dude. I gotta go. I'll see you around!"

You were far too enthusiastic about everything, sprinting about wherever you went and talking people's ears off like some brat experiencing a sugar rush. Nonetheless, I could not help loving this version of you even more than the one I had manufactured. Perhaps it was due to the fact that you were finally a real, living person and not the imaginary impression I had before. Maybe I was blinded by love. That was also a possibility.


	2. Chapter 2

To my surprise, you called later that night. I told myself repeatedly not to over think it, not to worry, not to concern myself with you any more than I had to. By supper, I had convinced myself that you really were not going to bother at all and that you were uninterested. The kisses had meant nothing. They were simply a gesture one was expected to make after a date. I was admittedly heartbroken before you so much as had a chance to pick up the phone.

I made an attempt to bake some scones after I had finished dinner since that usually brightened my day. When I say attempt, I mean that I was so distracted by you that they were horribly burnt. My whole kitchen nearly set fire. Thank you for that. Even jam could not make the normally delicious charred bits edible. The ruined pastries served only to dampen my already dark mood.

Deciding to do a bit of cleaning, my flat was immaculate within twenty minutes, but I could not stop arranging and rearranging the books on my shelves or straightening the picture frames on the walls. There was no point to it; you were not coming inside; you weren't even going to ring. I finally sat down on the loveseat with a cup of tea to quiet my concerns, picking up the latest novel I had started on. That did not work either. Nothing I did could sooth my frenzied thoughts.

After having to reread the page I was on three times before I realised that I was unable to focus, I set the book next to me, sighing exasperatedly. I should not have been so anxious. It was ridiculous! This wasn't a girl waiting for her date to the formal to arrive after he had obviously stood her up. It was only a call. Why was I so grossly invested in something that insignificant?

Sure, you were gorgeous, but there was more to it than that. There was something about you, an enigmatic quality that I could not place, and the more I tried to identify what it was, the further I seemed to get from it. I knew that I dreamt about you for a reason, perhaps it was destiny that we had met, though I was not entirely sure if I believed in such a thing. Losing you would have been devastating after I spent all of those months getting to know you in different ways. None of it compared to the real Alfred Jones and I wanted to keep you for as long as you would have me.

When my mobile rang sometime after dinner, I expected it to be a "surprise" check-in from my ex-boyfriend, Francis. Though we had broken up ages ago, he persistently phoned me just about every other week to ask how I have been and to make sure I wasn't cooking for myself. We still cared for each other as we always had, so I begrudgingly held my insults every occasion he took the time away from his current boyfriend to see to my needs. I hadn't heard from him in a while and figured that he would contact me sooner or later.

"Bonjour, Arthur! Joyeux anniversaire!" My suspicions were correct.

"Yes, hello, Francis. You are well aware I hate that."

"Oui, oui, I know. Are you going to be sulking around ze house like you do every year?"

I rolled my eyes and huffed, "I don't see why I wouldn't." Especially since that idiot American is not going to call, I added bitterly in my head.

"You should get out! I thought you moved away from me to see ze world? It broke my heart when you left. Don't waste this opportunity."

There was the sound of someone else in the background, he asked Francis a question to which he responded in rapid French. I could feel his words dripping enthusiasm and love, it was the new boyfriend I rarely heard about. Flirtatious giggles permeated the silence. My curiosity was limited at the moment and I did not implore as to what they were talking about. With you on my mind, it was difficult to focus on anything else.

"I will have to call you back, mon ami. I have some business to tend to. Au revoir."

Fully aware that the only thing he had to do was Matthew, I gladly hung up with him. Our conversations had not been very long lately but they occurred more often, due to the similar time zones between here and where Francis was staying in Canada, so it didn't bother me when he did things like that. Francis and I were no longer a couple, he could do as he pleased.

Just as I was carding a hand through my hair in agitation, having put thoughts of you off enough to think about something else for the first time in hours, my mobile began to ring again. I dreaded to answer. Perhaps it was my brother, who had managed to sober up enough to recall that something relatively important happens in the month of April, though I doubted it. With annoyance thick in my throat, I accepted the call without reading the number.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Arthur?"

It was you on the other end of the line. I had induced the idea that I would never hear your honeyed voice again, so every word you spoke was precious. Those three syllables, simple, without any deep meaning behind them had me falling hard and fast. How could I fall any farther, I wondered, after I swore I had already hit rock bottom?

Chewing at my lower lip, I suppressed a manly squeal, clenching my hands into tight fists and blushing something furious. At times I could act like such a silly little girl, fawning over boys as though this were a primary school playground. You asked if you had contacted the right number with a hint of panic in your voice. It sounded like you had expected me to purposefully give you the wrong number. I took a moment to compose myself.

"Y-yes! This is he. I was not expecting you to call so soon."

"Oh, sorry," you said dejectedly. "I missed you."

I had missed you, too–more than you could ever know. "How could you miss me already? You don't know me." My heart was in my throat as I waited for you to say something in rebuttal.

You chuckled loudly. "Trust me, bro, I totally miss you. I wanted to, uh, ask you out to dinner… if you'd like to go. Whadaya say?"

Suddenly I forgot how to breathe. My lips were twisted into a smile so wide it was painful, but I could not stop no matter how hard I tried. I knew I should have waited several moments before giving a reply so that I would not appear desperate or let on as to how much I cared for you. It wasn't in my nature to behave so rashly. However, I shot back my answer as quickly as the question had been asked.

"I would love to."

Relief flooded the phone with a long huff of air as though you had been holding your breath. I stifled a laugh with a cough. As if I could turn you down, I thought.

"Sweet! Do you have any plans for tonight?"

"Well, it is my birthday…"

You interrupted me before I could go any farther. "Dude, why didn't you tell me before!? If you're not busy, I am definitely taking you out."

As desperately as I wanted to see you again, I had a habit of spending my birthday alone and avoiding all forms of celebration. It was a tradition I was not prepared to break, no matter how depressing, not when there was a bottle of Whiskey in my cabinet that would help me forget what day it was. Even though I knew it was a better offer, I had to turn you down.

"Thank you, Alfred. You can take me out this weekend since you already bought my tea today."

That was good enough for you. "If you say so! I'll pick you up at seven on Friday night. Text me later, okay?"

"Alright," I promised, grinning to myself like an idiot.

"Hey, Arthur." I replied with a gentle hum of interest. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you. Goodnight."

We hung up with each other and I allowed my thoughts to linger on the sound of your voice, how nervous you must have been to ring me. My heart was pounding out a drumroll, beating too fast to be healthy, but I could not bother to care when I felt so alive. Lighthearted and full of optimism, it truly was a happy birthday. Thank you for that, love. You made it the first best day of my life without knowing.

I disregarded the alcohol awaiting someone to drink it on the counter for the first time in four years, opting to turn in early instead. You visited me in my dreams, so in a way, I didn't spend yet another birthday alone. Though I cannot recall what occurred that night, I remember waking up just as happy. It was one day closer to Friday.

For the reminder of the week, I was distracted by you in one way or another. It was always at an inopportune time that you decided to text me something adorable, any little thing like a good morning or a silly question (no, I have not heard the joke about the Icelander and the fridge, by the way). My work suffered greatly as I frequently thought about you. I was not content with sitting at the same dull desk every day, shuffling around useless papers when I could be talking to you.

On my lunch break, you would insist to call and would talk far too much yet not enough. I felt that we were covering so much ground so quickly that there would be nothing left to say once we went on our date. You never ran out of things to say, however. Whether it was mindless anecdotes about UFO landings I affectionately called you an idiot for, that I secretly found amusing, or useless facts about the most arbitrary things, there was always something to talk about. I could have done without knowing how chewing gum was invented, but you were too charming to shut up.

"Seriously, though, Artie, you should have watched it! Captain America is like the coolest superhero there is. I can't believe you haven't seen the movies!"

We were back on the topic of superheroes, the only thing I actually dreaded talking to you about. I swore that you thought you were one with the way you tried to solve everyone's problems. The hero complex was as entertaining as it put me off, so I tolerated it for the sake of all the good I saw in you. For a long while, I listened to you drawl about your favorite superhero, ridiculously patriotic as always.

"But what movies do you like?"

I was interrupted by my co-worker who reminded me that lunch was over before I even had the chance to eat. She tapped the face of her watch when I just stared at her dumbly. "Oh! I'm sorry, Alfred. My break is over. I can't talk anymore. Goodbye."

"Bye! I lo–" you tried to reply as I swiftly hung up. I didn't think to wonder what you were going to say.

Work was tedious, to say the least. I was constantly checking the clock, especially now that my stomach grumbled every so often, anticipating the time when I could finally go home. Once five o'clock rolled around, I called you on my way home only to have you remind me that the following day was Friday. As if I could forget. I played it off once more, pretending it was no big deal, though I could tell you saw through my charade. We were both excited. There was no point in denying that.

"So," you began, drawing out the word, "we can't talk at all tomorrow."

"And why is that?"

"It's our first planned date!" Yes, of course, because that answered my question.

"You could say it is our first date. The other doesn't count."

You groaned. "Yes, it does! Anyway, for our second date, it's supposed to be really special. What is so special about it if we already spent the whole day talking to each other?"

Seeing you again, hearing your voice in person, everything, I wanted to say.

I couldn't think of anything that would ruin our date. God forbid I talk to you on the phone. I would abide by your rule, however. What was a few hours without you? I had spent the better portion of my life that way, so it shouldn't have been all that difficult. By the next morning, I regretted thinking that. I missed you every second. Knowing that in a few short hours, not too long after I got off work, I would see you drove me mad. It was Friday for fuck's sake! We were going on our date today.

Francis rang shortly after work as I was pacing my flat to work off all of the nervous energy I created. I continued to walk the short distance from the kitchen to the door, back and forth, while I spoke with him. Our date was mere hours away and it was still far too early to get ready. He knew that something was bothering me. After I had given a handful of noncommittal answers to his usual questions about my wellbeing, Francis asked me what had me acting so strangely.

I stopped pacing for a moment. "I have a date."

"Oui? That iz wonderful, mon ami! But who would ever agree to date a stuffy man such as yourself?"

"Shut it, wanker! I'll have you know that Alfred asked me." I began to speed in a circle around the sofa, holding the phone too tightly.

"Why so anxious, then?" he asked.

"He's bloody perfect, that's why!"

"'ow so?"

"He's handsome, funny, cheerful…" I could go on all day about how even your flaws were charming.

Francis laughed to himself. "I suppose opposites do attract." Before I could snap at him, he was bidding me farewell. "I 'ope you have a good time zen, Arthur. I must go now. Au revoir!"

I didn't get to say goodbye. Francis was a busy man, so I understood he had little time for me even when he did ring. Our conversation left me with an hour before you were expected to arrive and I hopped in the shower, hoping the warm water would wash away my worries. That didn't work either. Even after I dressed to your vague specifications ("like, nice, but don't overdo it just for me"), I stood in front of the mirror for twenty minutes, brushing my hair this way and that until I gave up. Nothing I did at this point could fix my larger eyebrows or naturally messy hair. It was funny, I was never self-conscious about those things before.

Five minutes to seven, I locked up my flat and waited downstairs. You came around after eight, late, as I soon realised was typical of you, which had me in quite the mood by the time you decided to show up. I refused to ring you in case you had stood me up, scowling to myself, arms crossed over my chest on the bench outside of my flat. Too proud and heartbroken, I was ready to turn in for the night. It was a quarter past and I had given up on you.

"Wait, Arthur!"

I whipped my head around with my hand on the doorknob, ready to go inside in case I was mistaken. Surely enough, you were bounding across the street, looking dashing and flustered. With an agitated sigh, I ran a hand through my hair as you caught up with me. There was a frown on your face when you glanced at your mobile and realised how late you were. An apology was in order, but I was not about to hear your excuses, not when it was our first official date. I started inside.

"Arthur! Arthur, wait! I can explain. Please wait." You were close enough to reach out and touch me, but you thought better of it.

"What could you possibly say that would make up for this?"

"Just give me one more chance, please."

"Why should I?"

After a split second of hesitation, you begged, "It isn't my fault. Please give me another shot and I promise you'll understand."

You were over an hour late. You left me waiting outside, alone, on a Friday night. The sun had gone down forty minutes ago! It was our first date and you spoilt everything. There was no reason for me to give you another chance, not when you ruined the one you already had. But I was in love and I wanted to give us a shot. Hopefully I wouldn't regret it.

"Shut up and let's get on with it. You've already wasted my night."

"Arthur, I'm really–"

I grabbed your arm and began pulling you behind me. "Shut up."

"–sorry," you concluded anyway. "I promise I will make it up to you, I swear."

Rolling my eyes, I refused to speak another word to you so that you would know how displeased I was with your tardiness. I suppose it worked because your bottom lip was still stuck out in a pout several minutes later. You had let me down, but you knew that and seemed equally as upset with your actions as I was.

With the way you went on and on about how special this date was going to be, I at least expected dinner, or a movie perhaps. Instead of either of those things, however, I was surprised when we showed up at a local park. It was deserted. Normal people had better, more exciting things to do with their lives than go to the park on a Friday night. What were we, teenagers with nowhere else to go?

"Alfred, what in the hell are we doing here?"

You grinned sheepishly and stared at your feet. "Um… I made us miss our dinner reservation. I'm sorry."

"So you thought the park was next best option?"

"C'mon, Arthur, it'll be better than sitting in a movie theatre. We'll have fun. I owe that to you."

Rolling my eyes, I waved you on. Far be it from me to let a weekend go to waste. You perked up at that, took hold of my hand, and began sprinting toward the pond, dragging me along behind you. I was growing tired of your excessive energy quickly. We stopped within a few meters of the water's edge where it lapped at the newly green grass, high from the frequent April showers. The grass beneath us was wet, too, and I grumbled about it while you smiled, asking why it truly mattered. I realized it didn't.

A string of streetlamps lit up the walkway that wrapped around the perimeter of the park, close enough so I could see your silhouette yet too far to make out any details. You laid down with your arms behind your head, staring up at the empty sky. I followed your example seeing as I had nothing else to do and was severely disappointed. At best, a handful of stars, dimmed from cloud cover and smog, glowed faintly in the black expanse above. The moon was hardly a sliver and cast no light. It reminded me of everything I hated about living in the city.

"God, this sucks," you chuckled.

I glanced at you as you grinned at me. "You're quite right. Why are we here, then?"

"I thought that everyone dreamed of going on a spontaneous star-gazing date where you talk about everything and nothing at all, looking at the beauty of the universe and sharing what you've seen with each other." You paused while I thought that over. "But I guess that was a terrible idea… We can go."

"No," I said a little too harshly. "No… let us stay awhile. Tell me what you see."

You launched into a ten minute story about how the sky in Colorado was so clear the sky looked like God had spilt glitter on it. More stars than you've ever seen in your entire life, you said. It was more picturesque than the view we had from the manmade bank and I loved hearing about it. Even in England I hadn't seen a sight quite like the one you described to me. I longed to see it too. When I asked if you would consider taking me there one day, you got quiet for a while. I didn't understand why.

After that, you returned to being cheerful.

I never knew someone who had such an optimistic outlook on life. Everything you said had a positive spin. Your car breaking down turned into an opportunity to exercise more and avoid traffic by walking to work. When your last relationship ended, it was absolutely for the best. I asked you if you ever wished that something in your life turned out differently. Your response: Everything happens for a reason.

"Besides," you continued, "if anything changed, I wouldn't meet you."

My heart swelled at the corny line. I had not forgotten that I was cross with you, but whatever the reason behind your tardiness must have been valid. Either way, I had to know. "Why were you late, Alfred?"

There was another odd silence that made me uneasy. "Please don't get mad at me, okay?" I made no such promise. "I forgot."

I sat bolt upright. "You forgot? How could you forget our first date!?"

"Second," you corrected before addressing the actual problem, sitting up slowly. "And I didn't do it on purpose! Sometimes I just… can't remember things. It happens a lot, not just with our date. I didn't think I could forget something this important to me."

"What do you mean by that?" I was frustrated more than I was angry.

"It just happens."

"'It just happens'? What's going on?" I shouted. I didn't mean to yell.

You were trying your best to explain the situation calmly. "I–"

"I swear to god, if you say it again–"

"I have cancer!" you exclaimed. Neither of us had time to process what you said before you began to ramble, leaving no time for me to react. You gestured toward your head with your hands as you talked. "It's an inoperable brain tumor–actually, several–all over. Sometimes I forget things like where I left my keys. But sometimes I forget the really important stuff. Like my birthday or our date.

"That's what happened when I met you. I forgot an important thing, an appointment. Well, I guess it isn't that important because there is absolutely nothing they can do about it. That is what I was running late for. But then I ran into you and I couldn't bear to sit in front of another doctor telling me exactly what the last said when I could be living my life with the really cute guy I almost killed on my way there."

You didn't smile, though the last part was an attempt at a joke.

"That is what's going on. That is what's wrong. And that is why I can't take you anywhere with me, even though I desperately want to. Because I will be dead before then."


	3. Chapter 3

I had nothing to say. Your confession was worse than a punch to the gut, rendering me breathless and on the verge of tears. You tried to make me talk, begging me to say something, anything. The words wouldn't come. I could not express anything that I was feeling. Not the fury I aimed at God for bringing you into my life and ripping you away in the same moment, not the incredible hurt that manifested as physical pain in my chest, nor the disbelief that clouded my mind. I hadn't even been able to tell you how much I loved you.

You were worried about me. That's what really got to me. You were dying but only cared as to whether I was alright. I felt terrible for behaving so selfishly. All I could think about is how you would no longer be a part of my life. I had yet to consider your dreams and aspirations, how they would be affected by this. Someday I figured you would die, but not now, not this soon. We were supposed to be together for many years before either of us passed on. It wasn't fair. None of it made any sense.

"I shouldn't have done this, any of it," you murmured, cradling your head in both hands. "I shouldn't have asked you out or begged you to give me another chance. I knew this was going to happen. I should have left you alone. Oh my god, Arthur, I'm so sorry."

My throat burned in that way it does when you're trying not to cry. "Don't apologise." It was barely a whisper.

"What?" You looked at me.

"Please, don't you ever apologise for something you haven't done wrong. You don't owe me that. If anything, I ought to be apologising to you." I laid back on the grass so you wouldn't see the tears rolling down my cheeks. "I am sorry, Alfred."

"You don't have to be sorry either. I should have done it all differently."

You laid next to me and held my hand. I squeezed yours tightly so that I could be sure you were still there. Neither of us dared to interrupt the silence that fell over the park. Even the crickets seemed to understand that we needed a moment, for they didn't dare chirp. The pond became still as glass. I choked back the sobs the best I could, hoping you didn't notice, knowing full well that you did. You let me have a couple minutes to mull it over. It didn't help.

"This is the part where you ask me a million questions," you said delicately as though it would offend me.

"L-like what?"

Taking a second to think about it, you shrugged. "I dunno, dude. Everyone usually asks me all kinds of stuff. 'When did you find out?' 'Is it bad?' 'Are you handling it okay?' 'How long do you have left?' That's the usual."

Of course I wanted to know all of that. I was afraid to ask. I was scared to hear the answers, so I didn't dare. "Just t-tell me what you want me t-to know."

"Um, I guess I'll start there. I found out mid-January of this year. You know, that week we had that really bad storm pass through? It started pouring once I hit Main Street when I was almost home. Kinda fitting, I think. It… wasn't a good day."

My heart ached. That is the day you got stuck in the rain, the first time I ever saw you. And I realised, after all of this time, that you were crying. I nodded, unable to share my thoughts with you.

"I didn't handle it well at all the first few months. It was so weird knowing I was going to die. Everyone reacts the same way when I tell them. 'But you're so young!' You know what, there are plenty of children in the world, definitely younger than me, going through the same thing. Age doesn't matter 'cept in the survival rate. And even then, in my case, it doesn't make a goddamn difference.

"So, yeah, it's bad. I have the worst headaches when I wake up. It feels like my head is splitting into a hundred pieces at the same time. Every morning I would complain to Mattie that the migraines were killing me, and he would say I was overreacting. That is how I ended up diagnosed—I went to see why they were so awful. I honestly wasn't expecting to receive the news that I was literally dying.

"Even with treatment, which I refuse to undergo, I wouldn't live more than a couple of years. Without it, the doctor says I have a few months, maybe over a year left. But that's okay. I mean, I'm totally not ready for it yet. It's just… I sorta like knowing, you know? Every moment is so precious to me now."

I listened to everything you had to say with a heavy heart, drying my tears with the heel of my hand. It was worse than I had originally thought, and my assumption was already bleak to begin with. When you showed up late for our date, I thought the worse that could happen would be finding out you didn't like me as much as I loved you. When I was wrong, I was really, truly wrong.

"Did I cover about everything?"

"I think so," I whispered. "Except about treatment. Why did you make that decision?"

You rubbed circles on the back of my hand with your thumb as though what was to follow would be even worse news. "There is, like, no chance of me going into remission. My doctor said the odds are close to nothing. I figure that I have some months left being me, right? If I started chemo and radiation, I would be ten times sicker and super miserable. I'd lose all of my hair and feel like shit all the time instead of for a few hours a day.

"Since I'm going to die anyway, I want to live it up while I can. My other brother, Mattie, doesn't seem to understand that. He was moving back to Canada when I told him, and then I wasn't going to go through treatment—he tried to get me to go with him, but this is my home. I wasn't going to leave so close to the end. He said he didn't want to watch me kill myself. He really couldn't stand to spend the time apart. I don't know why he thinks about it that way."

"I can see where he's coming from, but it is your choice." That was a difficult thing to say and though I meant every word, I wished you would reconsider. You smiled, glad I at least understood your decision if I didn't quite agree.

"Let's talk about something else. Tonight was supposed to be fun, remember? We can talk about this later. There's time." You sounded so sure of it, though you couldn't possibly know that. Maybe tonight is all we had left together. I settled on changing the subject, however, not wanting to upset you.

"Matthew wouldn't happen to have a boyfriend, would he? And his name is Francis?"

"Uh, yeah, he does. How did you guess?" you asked, seemingly grateful for an unrelated question. I internally laughed about what a small world we lived in.

"He's dating my ex I told you about—the one that went to Canada. We keep in touch, though. Matthew seems… really happy with him."

You nodded in agreement. "Yeah, he's a lot happier there than he was here. Huh. That's funny. My brother and your ex-boyfriend."

"I think so, too," I said with little humour.

We stared up at the gloomy night sky. I deemed it an appropriate setting. I tried to stop thinking about it, it was a lot to take in, but I couldn't. There were so many questions I had left. None of them pertained to the cancer; you said we could discuss that later and I believed we would. I wanted to know everything else about you in as little time as possible. If we didn't have years, I would cherish the months. I just had to sort them out before I assaulted you with a thousand questions all at once.

You pressured my hand, dragging me out of my thoughts. "Hey, I don't know about you but I'm starving, and I still owe you dinner."

I didn't think I could possibly eat after everything that happened. I was going to be sick just thinking about it. My clothes were damp and covered in grass stains, my hair even messier than it had started out when our date began. Plus laying on the ground had left me stiff. You weren't in any better shape. Neither of us was suited for going out, but you insisted with enthusiasm. I supposed I would have to eat eventually.

Just as you promised, we did have fun. No decent place would allow us in looking the way we did, so we took a booth at a run-down diner in the shadier part of the city as the clock approached the latter half of eleven. It didn't truly matter where we went. As far as I was concerned at that point, we could have wound up dining off the floor in a crack house and I would have enjoyed every minute I spent with you.

There was never a lapse in conversation, whether you were blabbering about your favourite video games or your adverse love for the horror movies that scared you out of your wits and sounded more like an abusive relationship than anything else. You were utterly ridiculous and annoying, detestable even. I clung to every word you said. You were so different from the other men I had dated in the past that I could not resist falling a little more in love with you and your awkward allure. Eventually, after several long minutes of an uninterrupted monologue, you realised that I had said relatively nothing all night, not that it bothered me.

"Oh, sorry, I talk way too much sometimes. I just can't help it! You know, Mattie says that it's part of my charm, but I don't see–" I raised an eyebrow at you. "And I'm doing it again. Sorry. It's hard to stop once I've started. What do you like, Arthur?"

I was not nearly as interesting as you appeared to be, what with your wild adventures across the country that you shared with many of your intriguing mates. In comparison, I was just a boring bloke from the middle of nowhere, England. The fact that I was a foreigner to you was the only thing I felt was relatively remarkable about me. Even as I reluctantly went on to tell about my sedentary hobbies like reading, leaving out my love for needlepoint as I thought I ought to, I found that you were surprisingly absorbed in what I had to say. With a light blush dusting my cheeks, I paused mid-sentence.

"Why'd you stop?"

"I must be so boring to you. My life is not terribly exciting, not like yours."

"I just like listening you talk," you said matter-of-factly. "Please don't stop."

It was difficult to resist smiling at that. Slightly embarrassed, I picked up where I left off in the story I thought was incredibly boring that you seemed to like. The whole while, I was thinking about your condition. No matter what I did the idea was always in the back of my mind and it brought my mood down a bit. You noticed. After months of dealing with people's unwarranted apologies, odd glances, and overall aura of discomfort, I figured you would be able to know what I was thinking. I made an attempt for our sanity's sake to forget about it for the night. I couldn't.

As you were about to address the obvious, our waitress, a younger woman who lacked the proper manners to allow us to have a moment alone, delivered our food, and took her time to do so. She did not pretend to be even remotely cheerful for the time of night, asking if we needed anything else in a tone that hinted she wasn't listening. Surely she was displeased with having to work the late night shift on a Friday night. While I couldn't blame her, I was more annoyed than I should have been. You noted the angry glare I shot her and assured her that everything was "great". She gave a huffy answer under her breath I didn't quite catch as she shuffled away.

"What's with you and waitresses?" You found it rather amusing, it seemed.

I stabbed at an overcooked egg on my plate with a fork. "Is every waitress in America an obnoxious twit?"

"Dude, it's late. She's probably exhausted and ready to go home. Maybe she has an exam tomorrow that she's stressing over. This could be a thing she does to pay for college." You took a large bite out of your burger. After swallowing, you added, "She might have a kid at home that she's missing like crazy. Or a sick parent."

"Where do you come up with these notions?"

You shrugged. "Anything is possible. We forget that other people are people, too. They have problems and jobs and things they care about. I think,"—you smiled at me and I wondered how I could have gotten angry in the first place—"that we're all too hard on each other."

I never thought of it that way. You were right, of course. Every matter that pertained to people and personal skills in general fell under "Alfred is always right". I never figured out how you did it. How could you read a person like a book? Whereas I was never very good with people, you acted as though you could read their minds. Somehow you understood that everyone had flaws and many of them had good reason to, just as you and I did. I am not sure if I will ever see the world the way you did.

We finished our food between telling each other our life stories, not caring that it was cold and unappetizing. You talked about Matthew frequently, but never mentioned the other whose name I did not know. I was curious about him. Did he know about the cancer? If so, did he even care? Those questions were in the category we did not mention on this date. None of that made an impact on you either way. You were content with praising the sibling you cared for very much and I knew that he had to feel the same way about you.

By the time we decided to leave, it felt like only ten minutes had passed. It was nearly half past one in the morning. I wondered why the waitress continued glowering halfheartedly at us when she thought we weren't looking, and I didn't realise how late it had gotten until I was already back in my flat at a quarter after two. You walked me up the stairs and to my door like a gentleman ought to. We lingered in the corridor, neither of us wanting you to go.

"I couldn't possibly say goodbye now," I said with only half the melancholy I felt.

"It's not 'goodbye'." You leant against the wall. "It's… a chance to say a new hello."

"And just what was so bloody awful about the last one?"

With a smirk you brushed the pad of your thumb across my cheek. I crossed the couple of inches separating us to kiss you, clasping my hands behind your neck so you couldn't leave. Your touch was as comforting as it was disheartening, your strong hands on my lower back holding me close. You smiled against my lips and I was happy.

It crossed my mind that I didn't know how many kisses we would share, but I knew that every last one would be invaluable. I wonder if you were thinking the same thing. We were acting like it was our first kiss when we broke apart, cheeks darkened, breath bated. I was in primary school again, experiencing my first crush on another boy.

"Hello," you whispered when you pressed your lips against my forehead.

"I suppose I do like this one better."

"I think you'll like the next even more." You were grinning at your own cleverness and how seamlessly you won me over. "C'mon, you should get to bed. I can't begin to imagine how cranky you'd be without sleep."

I started to complain, but you shut me up with another kiss. It only worked for the moment. "I can't sleep."

"I'm, like, ninety-nine percent sure you can."

"I won't be able to. You're walking alone in the middle of the night," I reminded. "There's no sense in sending you out at this hour. Stay with me."

I couldn't let you go, not that I expected you to understand. There was not a single moment of my life I wanted to spend without you. Even while I slept, I needed to know you were there beside me, to have you within reach just in case your last breath came too soon. Perhaps the doctor was wrong, maybe he made a mistake. Tonight could be the last time I ever see you smile or hear you laugh. I would never get to watch your eyes light up at something that made you happy. You can't leave me, I cried internally.

"Hey, I'm a classy dude." You moved your hands up to grip my shoulders and I allowed mine drop. "I don't sleep with a guy on the first date, even if we're actually sleeping. Just stay on the phone with me until I get there, or until you fall asleep. Whichever comes first, you won't have to worry, okay?"

Reluctantly I agreed, seeing as you were dead set on walking home. I continued to grumble about it even as you gave me tender kisses of reconciliation, wedging the complaints in between, and hoping I could convince you to change your mind. Every excuse I came up with was shot down as quickly. Having realised I was not going to let it go, you dug the mobile out of your pocket and started to ring me. I answered, though I knew it meant I had lost, and pressed it to my ear.

"Hello," you chimed. I could hear your voice twice at once. For that I could smile. You began to back away slowly with a glum expression and I knew that you wanted to stay just as badly.

"It is getting terribly late."

"I think it's early now."

You had a point, but I was going to keep trying. "Then you ought to stay for breakfast."

"I'm not hungry." You waved while rounding the corner so that you were out of sight. "We ate, like, an hour ago."

"Coffee?" I couldn't hear you without the phone anymore. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach.

"No thanks. I don't think you have any, anyway." You were right about that.

"It is still a long way home."

"As far as you know, I'm almost there," you stated as though it were true. I sighed in agitation. "Go to bed, Arthur. I'm still here."

Dragging my feet, I entered the flat, locked the door, and started for bed. You narrated the journey as you went, commenting on particularly questionable dark alleys and pretending to be surprised by the abundance of passersby with debatable morals. That was not the least bit funny to me, though you seemed to think it was. I changed into my nightclothes and was about to finish brushing my teeth when you said something I didn't catch.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I wanted you to know that I can't do this if you're doing it out of pity."

"You're being a bit vague. What do you mean?" I stuck the toothbrush in my mouth and let it stay there, anticipating a lecture of sorts.

"This—our relationship," you expanded. "You weren't supposed to find out about the cancer yet and I don't want you sticking around out of guilt or whatever. I hate to pretend that we can even be a thing when it's all a waiting game at this point.

"But I really like you, Arthur, and giving you up would be one of the hardest things I have ever done. I'm way too selfish to do something like that. That is why I want you to know that I care about you enough to let you go. I don't want to hold you back from living your life."

My stomach was churning. I had so much to tell you and none of the correct words to express any of it. If only you could read my mind, you might have understood how far from the truth you were. Both of us remained silent while I thought of a proper response. I knew you were probably stressing over every second it took for me to reply, so I kept it simple.

"Don't be so thick. It would take more than that to keep us apart," I said softly. I finished rinsing out my mouth and waited for you to say something. By the time I had popped into bed, you hadn't said a thing, I was afraid something happened to you. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I just—I'm still here."

"I want you to get one thing straight, Alfred. If I didn't want to be with you for any reason, I wouldn't be. Actually… I was rather afraid you might dump me for being so awful to you earlier."

"What? No way, dude! I totally deserved that. Even after I blew it, you gave me another chance. If that happened to me, I don't think I would've done that." You were so very wrong. You deserved so much better than this life gave you, not an angry Brit yelling at you. That is just how you were; selfless to a fault. "I don't want us to think of this as a temporary thing, even though it sorta is. I know that's a lot to ask."

"No, it's not a lot to ask for. We're in this together now, like it or not, and you are stuck with me for as long as you'll have me."

"I'm being really selfish," you tried.

Well, so was I. I wanted you for as long as the circumstance allowed. Terminal illness be damned, I was going to be with you. No, it was not the best situation in which to start a relationship. I was not going to let it prevent me from trying regardless. You weren't passing up the opportunity to find love because of it, neither was I.

I yawned away from the phone, but you heard and tried to convince me to go to bed. "Not yet," I replied sleepily.

The day had been incredibly long, longer than anticipated and I was exhausted. Tired or not, I had to make sure you made it home. You whined and pleaded, but I was resolute. A few minutes longer was definitely not going to kill me. I said so, you disagreed. I changed the subject.

"Would you like to go out next weekend?"

"Sure. I'd like that a lot. Now go to bed, dude. I'm home."

"I doubt that."

You chuckled. "I'm unlocking the door now." There was the sound of a key turning in a lock. "See?"

"Okay. Perhaps you are."

"I'll be sure to say 'hello' in the morning. Sweet dreams, Arthur."

"And you as well, Alfred." The words were soft, but I knew you heard me.

The call ended as was indicated by the beep in my ear. I was too exhausted to even move the mobile away from my face, so I left it there. There were a few seconds of uninterrupted city ambiance: tyres on wet asphalt; tenants on the floor above mine waking up, their footsteps heavy and slow; pipes creaking in the walls. It soothed me to sleep in less than a minute.

Good night, love.


End file.
